


Apocalypse

by Iron7King



Category: Now You See Me
Genre: Character Study, It's just strange trust me, Short, Well. Almost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 07:49:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10782603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron7King/pseuds/Iron7King
Summary: There's a reason they call themselves The Four Horsemen.





	Apocalypse

Jack Wilder, for as long as he remembers, has always wanted more. It’s a burn in his veins, a learning of the word hunger from his empty stomach, and the physical act of mastering how to slip wallets from unsuspecting persons. It’s ingrained into his mind to want more, to need more, to starve for it even when his belly is full and he’s no longer facing the surface of hunger. It’s something he’s always felt blazing in the bottom of his stomach, like a dragon hoarding gold and breathing fire, and he knows he’ll never be rid of it for as long as he lives.

Lula May, on the other hand, has never wanted anything in her life. She’s yearned for things, begged for things so much that her parents bought them just to shut her up, but she’s never truly wanted something. She’s used to getting her way and she’s usually ready to cause a raucous to help that simple fact along. Because, you see, while Lula May has never truly wanted, she’s always been good at making fights. She’s good at making bloody mutilations and lost causes with just a few smart words and some red dye. She’s good at causing an uproar and sparking things into action and distracting people from the real problem at hand; her real intentions (there’s a reason she was able to steal off of Jack. She’s never wanted but she’s entirely good at taking.)

Merritt McKinney, however, is a pest. He takes pride in that fact too. He’ll feed off of every resource he can gather, ‘read’ their minds with simple mentalism, and trick them into giving him the money for next month's rent. He preys on the people with something to hide and he uses his skills to figure it out before robbing them of all they earn. He’s a stickup artist, a non-conman, the leech sucking people dry until he has to wake them up from their trance. He uses it to his own advantage and hides any guilt he might feel behind a vague mask of assholery and being a dick; if people want to see him as the shithead with nothing better to do than con money than that is what he will do.

And J. Daniel Atlas, the control freak, the high wound false leader who’s got a stick so far up his ass he can pull it out of his throat, is death. Not like Jack, not in the tarot meaning of rebirth and a growing of spiritual maturation. Daniel is honest-to-God death. He’s cold, calculating, ready to be great but also ready to just sweep everything under the rug and call it quits. He’s always been passive, doesn’t meddle in the other’s squabbling unless it directly involves him, doesn’t seek out someone to pester. He’s the epitome of the cure for loneliness prescribed on a pill bottle by a doctor who’s not qualified to prescribe pills. He’s rough edges and sharp words and sharper eyes; Jack’s always been the one who you’re warned to stay away from but Daniel’s the one who can slit your throat in the middle of the night and not care for days.


End file.
